


and it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [23]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: Hecate makes it clear from the moment Pippa walks through the door that she’s displeased with Ada’s decision. She looks down her nose at Pippa’s bright pink chef’s uniform, the little rainbow pin on her lapel, and declares it unprofessional and gaudy. Ada merely smiles, and says the restaurant could use a little charm, and Pippa is just the person to bring it. As delighted as Pippa is to have Ada’s confidence, she can’t deny she’s been wanting to work with Hecate Hardbroom for years—she’s one of the most accomplished chefs in New York, and runs the small, but highly recommended little Southern Italian restaurant with an iron fist.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1014084
Comments: 42
Kudos: 119





	and it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea

**Author's Note:**

> \- Title from Giacometti Leopardi’s “L’Infinito” trans. Henry Reed  
> \- For anon, who requested "chef au"  
> 

Hecate makes it clear from the moment Pippa walks through the door that she’s displeased with Ada’s decision. She looks down her nose at Pippa’s bright pink chef’s uniform, the little rainbow pin on her lapel, and declares it unprofessional and gaudy. Ada merely smiles, and says the restaurant could use a little charm, and Pippa is just the person to bring it. As delighted as Pippa is to have Ada’s confidence, she can’t deny she’s been wanting to work with Hecate Hardbroom for years—she’s one of the most accomplished chefs in New York, and runs the small, but highly recommended little Southern Italian restaurant with an iron fist. 

Pippa knows all about Hecate—the years she spent in Salerno, under some of the best chefs in the world; the way she cooks, only with traditional, native ingredients, imported from Italy. She abhors fusion and modern takes and has perfected most of her recipes from her great, great grandmother’s hand-written notes, and there are things in the dishes that even the former sous chef—who’d apparently finally had enough of Hecate’s attitude and tended his resignation—didn’t know. Secrets Hecate keeps to herself, secrets that keep chefs intrigued and patrons always coming back. 

Pippa had hoped that perhaps the rumors of Hecate’s terrible kitchen-side manners were exaggerated, but standing in front of her now, on her first day, she’s beginning to think they were rather downplayed. 

Hecate barely looks at her, choosing instead to argue with Ada over Pippa’s presence, insisting that she does not need a new sous chef and certainly not one who indulges in more “modern catastrophes.” 

For some reason, Ada smiles through the entire exchange, and eventually pats Hecate on the arm, a firm look in her eyes that stalls Hecate’s tongue. 

“Miss Pentangle is highly accomplished in her own right, Hecate,” she says, “And her assistance will be invaluable. Do your best to make peace with it, hm?” 

Hecate purses her lips, but nods, and Ada excuses herself, leaving them mostly alone in the kitchen, a few others moving around them without a word. 

Pippa stares at her, annoyed with herself, for the way her stomach flutters slightly. She’s not just star struck, though that is part of it—but the truth is, up close, Hecate is gorgeous. She has fine features and a stiff jaw and look perpetually irritated, but Pippa can’t help it—she’s attracted to her instantly, and hopes that maybe, someday, they could be something like friends. 

“Well?” Hecate says curtly. “Get to work.” 

She turns on her heel and walks away, and Pippa sighs—just apparently not today. 

—

The first two weeks are some of the most stressful of her life. Hecate doesn’t tell her anything, and she has to learn as quickly as she can, and nearly entirely on her own. The rest of the staff are friendly and kind, but when Hecate’s around, there’s little joy: everything runs like a machine, efficient, but without emotion. 

The first time Pippa turns on some music while they’re cleaning up, Hecate turns it off and says nothing. 

The second time she does it, Hecate confronts her, says there’s no reason for the “racket” (though personally, Pippa’s never heard opera described that way). 

“Oh, leave her alone, HB,” Dimity says, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “It’s better than listening to you breathe down our necks.” 

Hecate glowers, but instead of turning it off, she simply turns it down, and Pippa thinks that’s a fair enough compromise for now.

—

It isn’t that Pippa doesn’t have a healthy respect for tradition—she does. She likes classical dishes and new fusions alike. But her heart is really in experimentation: trying to, not improve, but reignite old recipes that may have lost a bit of their luster. She thinks of it like shining an old pot, restoring an old painting, bringing things back to their former glory. 

Hecate staunchly disagrees. 

Pippa supposes it’s understandable—most of the recipes at _Le Tre Streghe_ are her family’s—but Pippa quickly finds that Hecate is not just traditional, she’s uncompromising. She refuses to allow even the smallest of tweaks, and nearly loses her head when Pippa suggests that adding a gluten-free crust to the menu might widen their customer range. 

Ada, however, agrees, and gives her the green light to try out a small, three dish menu of alternative items based on what’s already available, and Hecate refuses to speak to her for days after. 

It’s immature and ridiculous and Pippa hates that she still craves Hecate’s approval, that she watches Hecate taste the items she’s prepared, labored over for the past few weeks: a vegetarian arancino, a roasted cauliflower salad, and an otherwise traditional mortazza, with fior di latte, mortadella, and pistachio. 

To her surprise, Hecate declares the first two “edible” and says they’ll make decent additions to the winter menu. The pizza, however, she declares “abominable,” sliding the entire thing into the bin and giving Pippa a lecture on wheat that rivals anything she ever heard at school. It’s humiliating, at the same time it’s energizing: she knows she can do it eventually, and knows that Hecate isn’t so short sighted that she’ll shoot her own restaurant in the foot if the meal does indeed taste good. 

It’s a valuable lesson, and despite Hecate’s tangent on gluten-free trends, Pippa can’t help but smile. 

—

She spends months trying to perfect the recipe, and every time, Hecate throws it out. Ada merely shrugs, saying “her kitchen, her menu,” and Pippa grows increasingly frustrated. 

She’d wanted to learn from Hecate, wanted to help, but Hecate is distant and biting and harsh and as the months go by, the illusion of celebrity fades. Pippa can’t quite bring herself to hate Hecate, no matter how hard she tries, but she’s fed up and exhausted and after a shouting match over adding a little extra salt to the carbonara, Pippa’s nearly had it. 

Hecate storms away, and Pippa slams a pan down on the counter, cursing under her breath. 

Dimity looks at her with pity, and shakes her head. “She’ll come around.” 

“I don’t want her to,” Pippa snaps, feeling childish and sullen and chastised. “I don’t need her approval.”

Dimity shrugs. “You do, a bit, if you want to work here.” 

“Well maybe I don’t.” 

“That’s your choice.” 

Pippa sighs, exasperated. “I don’t understand why you defend her so much. She’s horrible. Everything has to be exactly her way or it’s rotten; she yells at everyone for the smallest mistakes; she doesn’t care about anyone but herself.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

Dimity shakes her head. “Look, I know HB’s a bit of a...” 

“Bitch?” 

Dimity flinches slightly. “She’s a bit harsh. But this is her life’s work—she cares about it, more than you know. And behind that prickly exterior, she’s good people. She just doesn’t trust easily.” And then, with a bit of reproach, adds, “It’s not her fault you built her up to be something she’s not.” 

Pippa looks down, deflated. “I’ve been here for months, Dimity. I’m supposed to be her right hand, and she never speaks to me unless she’s telling me off. How am I supposed to know what she wants if she doesn’t _talk_ to me?”

Dimity pats her arm sympathetically. “You’ve just got to learn how to communicate with her. I’m not saying it’s easy, and I’m not saying she’s perfect. But... well, she’s always been there for me, since I was a student, inside the kitchen and out.” At Pippa’s skeptical look, Dimity smiles. “I’m just saying. There’s more to her than meets the eye.” 

—

Pippa tries to heed Dimity’s words. Tries to find other ways to communicate with Hecate other than arguing—tries to keep a level head, even when Hecate is bristling and bitter. It takes another few months, but slowly, they build something of a rapport. Hecate still hates her pizza and her attempts to change up the menu; Pippa still hates her strict traditionalism and aloof attitude. 

But just after Christmas, they fall into something like colleagues. Every year, the restaurant offers a pre-determined menu for the Feast of the Epiphany. Drawings go up around the restaurant of La Befana, the Magi, and Nativity scenes. They’re charcoal drawings, all done by the same artist, delicately framed. The menu consists of an antipasto, eggplant ravioli, branzino, and struffoli, and each customer gets a fresh baked panettone to take home, in a beautiful box with a little ribbon. 

Hecate’s been doing it for years, apparently, and for once, Pippa keeps her ideas for alteration to herself, sensing, though Hecate doesn’t say, that it’s important to her, more so than usual, to maintain tradition. The restaurant takes reservations for the feast almost a year in advance, and Hecate, while even more stressed than usual, seems to relax just slightly, and Pippa even catches her once, smiling as she finishes off a dish. 

It’s a few weeks after, when things have settled back down, that Dimity is late. Only by three minutes, but Hecate is already glowering at the clock, muttering something about punctuality under her breath, and by the twitching her jaw, Pippa knows Dimity will get an earful when she arrives. 

She’s five minutes late when Hecate’s cell phone rings, which in itself isn’t odd—she coordinates most of the shipments and supplies and cleaning and everything else that needs to be done. But there’s a flash of irritation across her face before she answers that she betrays with a calm, 

“This had better be an emergency.” 

She says nothing for a moment. Just listens, and after a moment says, “Fine. Miss Pentangle will cover your duties tonight. Next time—” She huffs, then hesitates. “Call me if you need assistance.” 

Hecate doesn’t explain, but Dimity is gone for three days, and every night, Hecate simply tells Pippa to cover her work—she never asks, of course, and by the third night, Pippa’s irritated and overworked. 

“You could call in a temporary replacement,” she snaps, and Hecate nearly snorts. 

“For Miss Drill? Hardly.”

It’s the closest she’s heard Hecate pay anyone a compliment, and a low jealousy simmers in her stomach. She wonders if Hecate will ever feel the same way about her. 

On the fourth night, Dimity returns, this time, with a child in tow. Pippa blinks at the girl’s presence in Hecate’s kitchen, at the way the girl bounds up to Hecate and then pulls up just short of hugging her. 

“Miss Hardbroom,” she says, giving an awkward little bow that makes Pippa almost laugh. 

Hecate peers at her, lips pursed, but there’s amusement behind her eyes Pippa’s never seen before. “Miss Hubble,” she returns, and the girl grins. 

“What can I do?” 

“You can sit in that chair and not touch anything,” Hecate says, and the girl pouts. 

“But I—”

“Chair,” Hecate says, pointing a long finger at the corner of the kitchen. 

The girl sighs, but dutifully plops down into the chair, pulling out a sketchbook. Dimity smiles at Hecate, a bit of relief in her voice when she says, “Thanks, for letting her stay.” 

Hecate looks unimpressed, but asks, “How is Miss Hubble?” 

“Jules is alright. Still sick as a dog, but doctors say it’s just a wicked case of the flu.” 

“If you experience any symptoms—”

Dimity laughs. “I know, I know, stay the hell out of the kitchen.” 

Pippa watches the exchange curiously, but doesn’t get a chance to inquire until later, after their shift is over. Dimity explains that her partner is sick, and she needed to look after Mildred.

“And Hecate gave you the time off?” 

She must sound surprised, because Dimity laughs. “Don’t let her fool you. HB’s a huge softie, especially when it comes to Mildred. Five quid says they’re in the kitchen right now making something to take home to Jules.” 

“I’d never imagined Hecate would be good with children.” 

“She’s not,” Dimity says. “But Mildred gets her, and she gets Mildred. Two peas in a pod, they are.” 

The moment she says it, there’s an epic crash from the kitchen, and Hecate’s sharp, “Mildred Hubble!” followed by a repentant, sheepish, “Sorry, Miss Hardbroom.” 

Dimity rolls her eyes. “There goes dinner.” 

—

Mildred sticks around for a few days, always banished to the corner until after hours. Then, it’s like someone throws a switch, and Hecate’s demeanor changes. She’s still curt and uncompromising, but Pippa watches out of the corner of her eye as Hecate instructs Mildred on how to knead a dough, when to add more flour, how to round it out into a crust. She corrects her often, but Mildred doesn’t seem bothered by her tone, just follows her instructions to the letter. 

Ada leans against the wall next to Pippa and smiles at the sight of them. “She used to teach, you know.” 

Pippa blinks. “Hecate? Really?” 

Ada nods. “Cooking classes for youth in Italy. She travelled all over, taught classes for free. She was good at it, too.” 

There’s something in Ada’s voice, a wistfulness, that makes Pippa ask, “Why did she stop?” 

Ada’s smile dims. “There was an accident. One of her students was severely injured—alive, thank god, but... she blamed herself. Couldn’t bear it, after that.” 

Pippa’s chest aches for the rest of the night, every time she looks at Hecate, and she can’t quite find it in herself to engage in their usual banter. Hecate eyes her curiously, but doesn’t ask, and when she goes home for the night, Pippa falls into bed and dreams of long black hair flowing in the breeze. 

She wakes up with a throat so sore she can hardly swallow, a wracking cough, and, reluctantly, calls in sick. 

Hecate is sharp with her, but refuses to let her set foot in the kitchen, and offers a grudging, “Get well soon” that makes Pippa roll her eyes. 

She goes back to bed, hoping she’ll be able to sleep it off, but when she wakes up she feels even worse. A trip to the doctor confirms she’s caught the flu Julie had, that had somehow skipped over Dimity and Mildred and gone straight to her. She knows she’ll be out for at least a few days, but to her surprise, Hecate doesn’t scold her. 

Instead, she brings her soup. 

The knock on her door is startling, and Pippa drags herself off her sofa, wraps her fluffy robe tighter around her waist, and tries not to gape at the image of Hecate, standing awkwardly in her doorway with a large paper bag, brimming with food. 

Hecate declines the offer to come in, wrinkling her nose, but she thrusts the bag at Pippa and makes a quick getaway. 

Inside, Pippa finds zuppa imperiale, fresh baked ciabatta, pasta in a light butter sauce, and a large container of herb tea, with sage, thyme, mint, and honey. It tastes delightful, and feels even better on her sore throat, and Pippa wonders about it as she falls asleep, that none of the dishes are on the menu. 

—

“Oh, thank god you’re back,” Dimity says when she returns, grabbing her arm and all but dragging her into the kitchen, telling her how hectic it’s been without her, and Pippa frowns. 

“Hecate didn’t bring in someone?” 

Dimity snorts. “Are you kidding? Break in new blood?” She laughs, and nudges Pippa’s shoulder. “You’re part of the crew now.” 

Pippa feels a bit warm and fuzzy at that, but it’s nothing compared to later, when she finally gets a chance to thank Hecate for the food. 

Hecate looks uncomfortable, stares at a point on the wall behind Pippa. “I live nearby,” she says by way of explanation. 

“Still,” Pippa insists, “It was very thoughtful.” 

“Yeah,” Dimity says, teasing, “You’ve never brought _me_ soup when I’m sick.”

Hecate flushes red, stammers slightly, and tells them both sharply to get back to work before turning on her heel and hurrying out of the kitchen. 

—

Things are almost... good, after that. Hecate seems to value her more than she thought, and while she still dumps Pippa’s gluten-free pizza in the trash, Pippa has learned to laugh about it. She teases Hecate for being picky, and the first time she actively tries to flirt with her, Hecate goes scarlet and barks at her to pay attention to her cooking. 

From then on, Pippa takes delight in trying to rile her, little innuendos, most of which, sadly, go over Hecate’s head. But occasionally one lands, and Hecate always glares at her, flushes, and changes the subject immediately. 

Dimity calls it “shameless flirting,” but Pippa has a feeling Hecate wouldn’t know flirting if it slapped her in the face—which she’s been tempted to do on more than one occasion. 

By the time Dimity’s birthday rolls around, they’re almost—while Pippa wouldn’t exactly say friends—friendly, and she’s looking forward to seeing Hecate outside of work. She’s gone bar crawling with the other staff and even had the occasional dinner with Ada and Dimity, but she’s never socialized with Hecate outside of the kitchen. 

Unfortunately, Hecate doesn’t show up, and Pippa makes it halfway through the party before she finally gives in and asks. 

Dimity shrugs. “I invited her, but you know HB.” 

Pippa nods, and does her best to not look too disappointed. Evidently, she fails, because Dimity chuckles and says, 

“You could always go bug her about it.” 

“Me?” 

Dimity rolls her eyes. “You’re fooling no one, Pentangle.” 

Pippa protests, but Dimity just smirks. “I won’t be offended. Go. She could use the company.” 

Pippa shakes her head. “I don’t even know where she lives.” 

Dimity looks surprised. “Above the restaurant.” 

“The restaurant?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew that.” 

“No, I—she said she lived in Manhattan, near me.” 

Dimity laughs. “HB? In Manhattan? She’d rather eat dirt.” 

Which is how Pippa finds herself going back to the restaurant around ten, decidedly not anywhere _near_ her condo in Hell’s Kitchen, slipping into the alleyway to find a black-painted door. She’d never noticed it before, and she takes a deep breath before pressing the doorbell. 

It’s a long moment before the door swings open, and Hecate stands here, in a black turtleneck and dark jeans, barefoot, her hair, always up in a tight bun, down around her face. For a moment, Pippa can only stare. She’s always been attracted to Hecate, even at her most aloof, but here she looks almost soft, her eyes wide in surprise and confusion. 

“Is everything alright?” is the first thing out of her mouth, and Pippa hurries to reassure her. 

“It’s all fine. I just—you weren’t at the party.” 

Hecate blinks. “Party?” 

“Dimity’s birthday.” 

“Ah. No. Clearly I am not.” 

Pippa rolls her eyes. “How come? We missed you there.” 

There’s a flash of surprise on Hecate’s face before she buries it. “I’m busy.” 

“Doing what?”

“Is that your business?” 

“Considering I came all the way back from Queens? Yes,” she teases, and Hecate falters. 

“I—”

Pippa holds up a bottle of wine she’s nicked from Dimity’s. “It’s not Italian, but it’s still drinkable.” 

Hecate snorts. “Unlikely,” she says, but she hesitates, and Pippa holds up her other bribe, a copy of _Cinema Paradiso._

“Dimity said it’s your favorite film.” 

Hecate stares at her for a long moment, assessing, then steps back and allows Pippa to enter. There’s a short stairwell up to a door at the top, and when she follows Hecate inside, the apartment is nothing like she expected. 

She expected blacks and greys, everything stiff and functional, lifeless. Instead, the room is decorated in creams and dark blues, a hint of green here and there. She has a row of fresh herbs near the window, obviously tenderly cared for, a small but worn looking sofa, a small but pristine kitchen, a rack of colorful mugs hanging over the sink. There’s limited art on the walls, but what there is is colorful, bright, carefully framed. She recognizes the Italian coast in a large painting on one wall and gravitates toward it while Hecate pours them both a glass of wine. 

“This is beautiful,” she says as Hecate hands her the glass. “Sargent?” 

Hecate’s lips twitch. “Hubble.” 

“Julie painted that?” 

Hecate shakes her head. “Mildred. She does all the art for the restaurant.” She hesitates. “It was a birthday present.” 

“She’s very talented.” 

“At art,” Hecate agrees. “Her cooking leaves something to be desired. Mainly the integrity of my kitchenware.” 

Pippa laughs, and Hecate startles at the sound, her expression morphing from confusion and surprise to a strange shyness, like she’s never told a joke before. 

Hecate gestures to her sofa, and Pippa takes a seat while Hecate perches on an adjacent chair. At first, they talk mostly business—the restaurant, the summer menu, their colleagues and customers. They have a lot of regulars, and Pippa is surprised to learn Hecate knows all their names, where they’re from, their families. Many are immigrants, or the families of immigrants, and one, Hecate says, was formerly Cosa Nostra.

“No,” Pippa gasps. “Big Tommy?” 

Hecate shakes her head and smirks. “Antonio.” 

Pippa frowns. “The little bald man who comes in with his kid?” 

“He escaped here from Italy a few years ago.” 

“It’s a wonder he’s still alive.” 

Hecate shrugs. “He keeps a low profile.” 

“Wow. I had no idea. How do _you_ know that?” 

“He helped me start my school, back when—” She stops, and Pippa nods. 

“When you were in Italy.” At her look, Pippa admits, “Ada told me. Not everything, just that... something happened.” 

Hecate purses her lips. “Yes. It did.” 

She doesn’t elaborate, and Pippa doesn’t ask; instead, she changes the subject, asks how Hecate got into cooking in the first place (her grandmother), her favorite dishes to cook (spaghetti alla puttanesca, and cannoli, and Pippa grins at her pronunciation, _ganol_ ). The menu, for simplicity’s sake, is mostly in English, but on the few occasions Pippa has heard Hecate converse in Italian, she knows she can switch back and forth from the more Southern dialect, and in fact, prefers it. 

She’d learnt that her first week, when Hecate, in a bit of a rush, had ordered up a bowl of _basta fazul_ and Pippa had merely stared at her, and spent five minutes trying to figure out what she wanted until Dimity laughed and pointed her in the direction of the soup. 

They talk for several hours, and Hecate politely enquirers about her own experiences, her training, her love for cooking. She even listens to Pippa passionately explain her love for fusion, though she wrinkles her nose when Pippa explains a capicola dish she’d had once with blueberries, burrata, and thyme. 

“Abominable,” Hecate says. “And hardly worthy of being called _gabagool._ ”

“You’ll have to teach me the words,” Pippa says, grinning. “It’s a beautiful dialect.” 

Hecate snorts. “Most would disagree with you. It’s often seen as a bastardization of ‘perfect’ Italian.” 

“Well, I like it,” Pippa says, and hopes that maybe Hecate can hear the underlying truth in her words: _I like you._

But Hecate doesn’t react, and the topic shifts to politics and Pippa’s family and before she knows it, it’s half gone one in the morning. Hecate startles when she looks at the clock, and though Pippa would have been content to sit there for hours more, Hecate insists she must be tired, and Pippa takes it as a cue. 

At the door, she pauses, looks back at Hecate and smiles. “We should do this again sometime.” 

Hecate blinks, surprised. “I—”

“I mean, if you want.” 

She clears her throat, and looks away for a moment, and Pippa wonders at that—how insecure she seems in her own skin, how uncertain of her place. 

“That would be... doable,” she says, and Pippa smiles widely, bids her goodnight, and can’t quite shake the giddy feeling in her stomach the entire cab ride home. 

—

From there after, every week, Pippa turns up on her doorstep with a bottle of wine that Hecate always exchanges for one of her own, muttering disgustedly about French grapes. They talk about the restaurant at first, and then slowly drift into other topics. Pippa learns that Hecate isn’t really one for art, but she does love classical music and ballet; that her grandmother took her to see the Teatro alla Scala when she was young, and she’s had a fondness for dance every since; she learns that Hecate was mostly raised by her grandmother, though she doesn’t say why. She learns, one night, when Pippa admits she hasn’t eaten all day, that Hecate can in fact cook things other than Italian food, though she insists it’s for the sake of being well rounded and not at all appealing to her. Pippa tells her about her family, her parents, who were always supportive, about growing up with three brothers, all of whom went into the sciences. Admits, one night, that her love of pink and girlish things comes from trying to please her mother, who always wanted a little girl to spoil. 

Hecate smiles and asks questions, but she rarely talks about her family, her past. 

They still argue constantly in the restaurant, but Pippa has noticed Hecate’s bite softening, and her chastisement get softer, less curt and abrupt. 

Six months go by in a flash, and before Pippa has quite realized it, she’s fallen in love with Hecate and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it. 

Hecate, of course, is oblivious, but Dimity notices, takes Pippa out for drinks and gets her to admit, after her third tequila sunrise, that she isn’t half besotted with the woman she thought she was going to hate. 

Dimity chuckles, patting her hand across the table. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Pip. Hecate is... well, maybe not the nicest of the bunch, but she’s got a good heart. You could do worse.” 

“I just... I have no idea how she feels,” Pippa sighs. “And I don’t want to ruin what we have by being... I don’t know. Demanding.” 

“Telling someone how you feel isn’t demanding,” Julie reassures her. “And you know Hecate will never make the first move.”

“True,” Dimity says. “Stubborn as an ox, she is. It’s gonna have to be you.” 

Pippa groans, and downs the rest of her drink. “Maybe someday.”

—

Despite Dimity’s urging, “someday” takes much longer than Pippa would like. She’s gotten to the point where she feels like she’s properly friends with Hecate—they still meet up once a week at Hecate’s for wine and conversation and the occasional movie (Hecate has been introducing her to Italian classics), but they also spend more time together outside of work. Pippa drags her to the opera and to a few art shows and museums, and Hecate very awkwardly invites her to go with her to attend the Feast of the Giglio when it rolls around. 

She goes every year, despite the crowds, and they spend the afternoon trying various street foods and look at the art and Hecate even wins her a huge stuffed bear at an arcade stand. 

Pippa laughs, delighted, hugging the bear close to her chest. “How did you do that? I never win anything on these things.” 

Hecate shrugs, a faint blush to her cheeks. “There are tricks,” she says. “My grandfather taught me before he died. He used to work at a carnival.” 

Pippa asks questions and to her surprise, Hecate answers, tells her about long days spent with her grandmother in the kitchen, making meatballs, or weekends with her grandfather at work. 

“It sounds like you had a happy childhood,” Pippa remarks, not thinking anything of it. But Hecate’s face falls, her small smile disappears, and she admits very quietly that it was good for a while, until her mother died when she was seven. After that, her father moved them away from her mother’s family in Salerno and put her in boarding school. 

“I wasn’t allowed to see them for a long time,” she says. “Until I graduated, and then—”

“What?” Pippa says gently. 

Hecate offers a rue smile. “It was either them or my father,” she says. “When I moved back to Salerno, my father stopped speaking to me. I haven’t seen in him since.” 

Pippa swallows tightly. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” 

Hecate shrugs. “I made my choice. I can’t regret it. My grandparents and I set up the school, and they helped me run it until they died.” 

Pippa bites her lip, tries not to think about Hecate, all alone, no family. “They must have been very proud of you.” 

Hecate smiles softly. “They were. They were wonderful people. I wish—” She starts, stops, and then says, “I wish they’d gotten to meet you.” 

It feels like the highest compliment, and Pippa flushes. “I wish so, too,” she murmurs. When Hecate nods, but doesn’t reply, a faraway look on her face, Pippa takes a deep breath and loops an arm through hers. “Come on,” she says, “There are fried clams over there with my name on them.” 

Hecate almost laughs. “How can you possibly be hungry?” 

“It’s not about hunger, Hecate, it’s about want. And right now, I want fried clams.” 

Hecate snorts, but dutifully lets her lead them both to a vendor. That night finds Pippa on Hecate’s sofa, moaning about her stomach while Hecate shakes her head and makes her tea. They watch the news and talk more and Pippa falls asleep at some point, wakes up in the dead of night to a blanket over her, a pillow under her head. 

She falls back asleep, the smell of Hecate’s perfume lingering on the pillow. 

—

‘Someday’ doesn’t come for another six months, until Ada lets slip that Hecate’s birthday is coming up. Pippa wracks her brain trying to think of a suitable gift. She knows Hecate doesn’t love parties, so that’s out—she can’t cook her anything, because Hecate is still, despite Pippa’s best efforts, a better cook than she is (but only just). She doesn’t wear jewelry, save for a pocket watch she’d told Pippa her mother gave her, and she isn’t much for art, unless it’s Mildred’s. 

She doesn’t seem to want for anything, and lives frugally. 

Fortunately, and by some divine intervention, Pippa thinks, she’s talking with Antonio one night and he mentions with excitement that the ballet is in town. 

“What ballet?” Pippa asks. 

He grins. “ _The_ ballet! Corpo di ballo del Treato alla Scala,” he says wistfully. “The best dancers in the world are Italian, you know.” 

Pippa laughs. “Isn’t the best of everything Italian?” 

Antonio grins. “See, this is why I like you, even though you are _medigan._ ” 

Pippa rolls her eyes, but two days later she buys box seats for the production of _Sylvia_ at Lincoln Center. 

Hecate is—well, Pippa thinks, excited might be pushing it too far—but she seems happy with the gift and on the night of, Pippa spends hours trying to decide what to wear, how to do her hair, her makeup. It isn’t a date, but it feels like a date, and she want to impress—wants, for once, for Hecate to see her out of her chef’s uniform or t-shirt and jeans. Eventually, she settles on a dark pink number that hugs her curves, heels, and leaves her hair down. 

She meets Hecate at the theatre, and tries not to stare at the sight of her—she’d dressed up as well, in a long, black dress that covers her near head to toe, but her hair is down in a long French braid and she smiles awkwardly, unsure. 

“I don’t have much by way of fancy dress,” she says, and Pippa leans forward, kisses her cheek. 

“You look stunning,” she says, and means it. 

Hecate flushes, but Pippa doesn’t miss the way her eyes track Pippa up and down, and she considers that a sort of victory. 

The ballet itself is beautiful, the music wonderful, and Hecate even tears up at some points, though none of her tears fall. 

They’re standing in the lobby at intermission, getting drinks, when there’s a gasp, a delighted, “Hecate?”

Pippa looks up, and there’s a woman standing near them, around Hecate’s age. She’s gorgeous—lithe, obviously a former ballerina, with dark hair and a wide smile and Hecate blinks, her face softening. 

“Sophia?” 

The woman laughs, and before Pippa can really move out the way, embraces Hecate tightly. 

Hecate stiffens at first, startled, but she immediately relaxes, lifts her arms and hugs the woman back and Pippa tries not to feel a bang of jealous at that, and how easily Hecate returns her touch. 

The woman starts speaking in Italian, too fast for Pippa to catch anything, and Hecate responds in kind. Pippa can’t understand a word they’re saying, but the woman hasn’t let go of Hecate’s hands, and she knows that look, the one she sees in the mirror every so often, one of affection and devotion and love. 

This woman loves her, the way Pippa loves her, and when she looks at Hecate, she’s wearing a wistful smile, like fond memories. 

It’s a few minutes before Hecate seems to remember herself, and introduces them. The woman looks Pippa up and down with a knowing smirk, but she offers her hand, warm and bony. 

“Sophia was the principal dancer for many years,” Hecate explains. “And now you’re...?” 

They switch to Italian, and Hecate nods, then translates, “She’s the international coordinator for the America tour.” 

Pippa nods, expresses her delight in the performance, and Sophia nods and listens but her eyes keep traveling back to Hecate. Pippa swallows the lump in her throat and pastes on her brightest smile, but there’s something there, something between them, that makes her heart ache. 

They go back to speaking Italian, and at one point, Sophia looks over at her with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

Hecate shakes her head, but Pippa doesn’t know what she says, what the question was, and it makes her uneasy. She watches as Hecate looks away, and holds her breath when Sophia reaches up and gently cups Hecate’s cheek in her palm. 

“You always did things the hard way, mi stellina.” 

Hecate huffs, but smiles softly and says something back in Italian that makes Sophia nod. She drops her hand, and gives Hecate another warm hug before she turns so she’s addressing them both. 

“We’ll do dinner, yes? I am meaning to come by your restaurant with my wife—I have heard great things.” 

Hecate nods. “Of course. Anytime.” 

Sophia smiles, and looks at Pippa again. “It was wonderful to meet you. Take care of this one,” she says, gesturing to Hecate. “She will fly away like Icarus if you are not too careful.” 

Hecate rolls her eyes, but Pippa nods and forces a smile. “I’ll do my best.” 

Sophia nods, gives Hecate another hug, and then disappears just before the bells chime, signaling they should return to their seats. 

Pippa tries to enjoy the rest of the performance, but she can’t stop thinking about Sophia. The way she touched Hecate, the way Hecate let her, the fond look in Hecate’s eyes. She isn’t an idiot, and knows there’s something there, which at the same time is both encouraging and disheartening. Hecate has never mentioned an ex. Pippa did her best to make it clear from the beginning that she likes women, but Hecate has never returned the sentiment one way or the other. She feels a bit let down, that Hecate wouldn’t tell her. Feels like she hasn’t quite earned her trust somehow. 

She tries to keep it off her face, tries to be excited for Hecate, for the performance, but by the time the ballet is over and they’re leaving the theatre, Hecate clears her throat, asks, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Pippa says. “I’m just a bit tired all of a sudden.” 

Hecate nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “Would you prefer to go home?” 

Pippa looks surprised. “You had something else in mind?” 

Hecate hesitates, then says, “There’s a trattoria nearby—the entrees leave something to be desired, but they make a decent tiramisu.” 

It’s half a question, and she looks so nervous, so hopeful, Pippa can’t bring herself to say no. 

They walk there in mostly silence, Pippa trying desperately to escape her bad mood; but she keeps thinking about Sophia, about the way she looked at Hecate, about her warning, and can’t quite help but ask, 

“So how did you meet Sophia?” 

“We were childhood friends,” Hecate says. “We knew each other in Salerno, and then met back up again a decade later, in Milan. I worked there for a while before I began teaching.” 

“Oh,” Pippa says. “She seems lovely.” 

“She’s very kind,” Hecate agrees, but doesn’t elaborate, and Pippa tries not to feel frustrated. 

“She seems to like you an awful lot,” she says, and Hecate flushes. 

“Well. Yes, she does. Or did, rather.”

“Were you together?” she asks, and braces herself for Hecate’s displeasure, her ire. 

Instead, Hecate merely smiles, a bit sadly. “For a while. We wanted very different things, however. And my grandfather—well, I worried how he would react.” 

“Did you ever tell him?”

“Eventually.” She smiles a bit ruefully. “I needn’t have worried. He was always happy when I was happy.” 

“That’s good,” Pippa says, her heart thundering in her chest. She should tell her. Right now. It’s the perfect opportunity—the streets are busy, but calm. There aren’t at work. They just came from what resembled a date, and Pippa thinks of Dimity’s words, her warning that Hecate will never say a word. That it’s up to her. 

She’s been a lot of things in her life, but she’s never been afraid, and it’s a few minutes later that she takes a deep breath and says, 

“I need to tell you something.” 

Hecate frowns, and pauses, looks at her with concern. 

Pippa swallows. “I—” she starts, and loses her words immediately. “I wanted to—” She huffs at herself. “I like you, Hecate.” 

Hecate frowns. “I like you, too.” 

Pippa shakes her head. “No, I mean I—I really, _really_ like you.” 

Hecate stares at her. For a moment, Pippa thinks she doesn’t understand. That she’s going to have to spell it out, even more so. And then Hecate flushes, and ducks her head, stammering slightly. 

“Pippa, I—”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” Pippa says in a rush, wanting to soothe the sudden tension in Hecate’s frame. “I’ll still be your friend. I just... I had to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for months, I just... I was afraid.” 

Hecate stares at her, eyes wide, her shoulders stiff, and Pippa feels like this was a horrible idea, a mistake, and the longer Hecate remains silent, the worse she feels, the more her stomach knots. 

“Please say something.” 

Hecate takes a shaky breath. “I can’t.” 

Pippa feels the air go out of her lungs. “Can’t?” 

“I—we work together, Pippa,” she says, eyes to the ground. “I’m your supervisor—” 

“I don’t care,” Pippa cuts in, shaking her head. “That doesn’t matter to me. You—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Please, don’t,” Hecate manages, her voice strangled, and Pippa quiets, watches her, the conflict on her face, the way she can’t quite meet Pippa’s gaze. 

“Hecate...” 

“It’s not a good idea.” 

“Why?” She insists. “Just because I work for you?” 

“That, and I don’t—I’m not—” She shakes her head, frustrated. “It’s unethical. I’m your boss, I can’t—The restaurant needs you.” 

“And what about you?” Pippa asks, feels tears sting the corners of her eyes. “Do you need me?” 

“I—” Hecate’s lips move, but there’s no sound. For a long moment, she doesn’t answer, then manages, so softly, “It’s not worth it.” 

Pippa flinches, hard. “I see.” 

“Pippa—”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, but her voice is sharp as she holds back tears. “I get it. The only thing that matters to you is your work. Everything and everyone else always comes second.” 

Hecate looks away. “That’s not true.” 

“No? Then what? Because you can’t tell me you don’t feel the same. I can see it on your face.” Pippa can’t help herself, reaches for Hecate’s hands, gutted when she pulls away, folds in on herself. 

“Don’t.”

Pippa stares at her, wants to understand, to say it’s fine, to go back, but there’s an anger in her stomach she can’t quite quell, a jealousy when she thinks of Sophia, how Hecate was willing to try for her, but not for Pippa. 

It isn’t fair, she knows. She’s all but ambushed Hecate with her feelings, but she knows, she can tell that Hecate returns them. Feels the same way about her, but she won’t give them a chance, and she doesn’t understand. 

“What are you so afraid of?” she asks finally, almost desperately. 

Hecate looks up, and for the first time, her eyes harden. “I’m not afraid.” 

“Then why won’t you try? I think—” Pippa swallows. “I know I could make you happy.” 

Hecate purses her lips. “My happiness is irrelevant. It’s yours that I—” 

“You what?” 

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t give you what you want, Pippa, and I think moving forward, it would be best to presume this conversation never took place.” 

Pippa’s eyes sting. “I—if that’s what you want,” she manages. Her chest aches and her hands feel funny, and she barely hears Hecate suggest they both go home. 

“I’ll hail you a cab,” Hecate says, and Pippa looks up, eyes narrowed. 

“Don’t bother. I’ll be fine on my own.” 

“Pippa—”

“Just go, Hecate.” 

Hecate looks hurt, which Pippa finds wholly unfair, but she nods, and bids her goodnight, and disappears towards the subway. Pippa isn’t sure how long she stands there, in the middle of the block, defeated and alone, part of her wishing it would rain.

—

Things at the restaurant are fraught with tension. As badly as Pippa wants to be able to take Hecate’s rejection on the chin, she can’t stop herself from feeling bitter—not because Hecate doesn’t feel the same (she’s almost certain she does) but because she refused to even entertain the idea, refused to take a chance on them. 

They barely speak except when absolutely necessary, and Pippa supposes it’s a testament to Hecate’s well oiled machine that they don’t really need to converse to do their jobs properly. Service at the restaurant remains the same, but Pippa stops coming by Hecate’s on Sunday nights, stops teasing her in the kitchen or dragging her places. Hecate doesn’t seem at all bothered, and it’s like Pippa’s presence in her life hardly mattered. 

She’s been rather irritable, but since she’s always irritable, there’s little difference Pippa can see. 

Dimity insists otherwise, but Pippa refuses to let herself believe it. If she believes it, then there’s hope, and she can’t handle that at the moment. 

Instead of spending her time with Pippa, Hecate seems, in the weeks after, to gravitate towards Dimity and Julie and Mildred. The girl comes in more often, and after hours, late into the night, Hecate stays with her in the kitchen and shows her how to pack meatballs and fold pasta and manage sauces. Pippa leaves earlier, as soon as her shift is over, and returns to her apartment and tries not to think about what Hecate’s doing, who she’s with, if she misses her just as badly. 

It’s a week later when she leaves after her shift, realizes she’s gotten her purse, and returns to the restaurant, slipping in through the back. She can hear Ada talking quietly from the main seating area, and assumes she’s having tea with Hecate, as they sometimes do. She’s keen to get out of there as fast as possible when she hears her name, and stalls. 

“It wouldn’t be fair. I—I can’t give this up, Ada,” she says softly. “I can’t—this place... it’s everything I have.” 

“No one is asking you to.” 

“I cannot be with her and be her supervisor at the same time, Ada,” Hecate says. “I’ve been there before and it’s...it doesn’t end well.” 

“It _didn’t_ end well,” Ada says. “But that was one relationship. This is entirely another. Who knows how it would work out?” She pauses, then says, “It’s very clear Miss Pentangle feels very deeply for you. And you for her. Don’t you think that’s worth the risk?”

Hecate’s silent a long moment, then asks, “And if I hurt her? How is that worth any risk at all?” Hecate shakes her head. “She’s so kind, Ada,” Hecate murmurs. “She’s kind, and she’s good, and she’s everything I am not, and I won’t—she’s better off with someone else.” 

“She doesn’t see it that way.” When Hecate doesn’t reply, Ada sighs, and leans across the table to take Hecate’s hand. “You are one of the smartest, most resilient people I know, and you more than anyone else deserve happiness and love. You _do,_ ” Ada insists, when Hecate makes to protest. “You’ve been punishing yourself for far too long, Hecate,” Ada says, not unkindly. “I know you think you don’t deserve to find peace in life, but you’re wrong.” Standing, Ada rounds the table and presses a kiss to the top of Hecate’s head. “Just think about it, alright?” 

Hecate nods, and Pippa hurries out of the restaurant before Ada sees her. 

—

It takes her three days to come to a decision, but she’s confident it’s the right one. Either way, it will be good for her, and if Ada’s slight smirk is anything to go on, she has a glimmer of hope. Still, standing outside Hecate’s flat, waiting fo her to answer the door, Pippa feels suddenly nauseous, uncertain. It’s a gamble, and she’s about to see whether or not it will have paid off. 

Hecate opens the door, looks surprised to see her, but invites her in, up the familiar stairs and into her warm apartment. Pippa feels her eyes sting, hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this place, missed Hecate’s presence. 

Hecate, for her part, stands awkwardly near the sofa, her hand clutching the collar of her robe. “What can I do for you?” she asks, and she sounds so tired, Pippa wants to wrap her up, hold her close. 

Instead, she takes a deep breath and says, “I’ve given Ada my two weeks notice.” 

Hecate stills, pales, looks horrified for a moment before her expressions falls into a mask. “I see.” 

Pippa swallows. “I’ll stay as long as needed, until you can find a replacement.” 

“Of course.” 

Pippa tries to read her, but she can’t, and she takes a deep breath. “I love this job. I love the people here, I love this restaurant more than I’ve loved any other place I’ve worked before.” 

Hecate frowns. “Then why are you leaving?” 

“Because I love you more.” 

Hecate falters, her eyes going wide, and Pippa pushes on, says, as clearly as she can, “Whether it’s your friendship or something more, that’s okay. But I would rather find work elsewhere and have you in my life than keep doing... whatever it is we’re doing. I would rather spend my weekends with you and drag you to operas and watch... excruciatingly dull foreign films with you than work side by side, barely speaking. I would—” She stops, and inhales sharply. “I would rather find out if we could be something more, than spend my life working with you and never knowing. I know you said you couldn’t be with me while we work together, and I understand that. And if all you want to be is friends, I understand that, too. But you are... you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try...if I didn’t...” 

Hecate stares, and Pippa takes a shaky breath, tries to calm her racing heart. 

“You—” Hecate starts, clinging to her robe. “You would give this up... for me?” 

Pippa softens at the insecurity in her voice, the tremor there, and smiles gently. “Darling, I would give up the world for you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Hecate whispers. 

“That’s my choice to make. And this one’s yours. And whatever you decide, I promise, I’ll still be here.” 

Stepping closer, she leans forward and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Hecate’s cheek. “I’ll let you think about it,” she says, and turns to leave, halfway to the door when Hecate says, 

“Wait.” 

She turns back, and before she can ask, Hecate’s hand is soft around her wrist and her mouth is gentle on hers, a barely there kiss that makes Pippa’s heart flutter and her breathing stall. 

Hecate pulls away, the tips of her ears red, and she stammers out an apology that Pippa quiets with a finger to her lips. When she kisses her a second time, it’s more: open mouthed and desperate and Pippa feels her back hit the door, wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck and kisses her with every ounce of love she has, holds her close. 

When the part, Hecate is breathing heavily, rests her forehead to Pippa’s, her eyes closed. “Are you certain about this? I don’t want you to give up—”

Pippa strokes her cheek gently. “The restaurant is your darling, Hecate, not mine. With Ada’s recommendation, I can find work anywhere. I can’t find another you.” 

Hecate inhales sharply. “I’ve loved you since your first terrible pizza,” Hecate admits, and Pippa laughs, kissing her softly. 

“I’ve loved you since you dumped my delicious pizza in the trash.” 

“Hardly pizza,” Hecate snorts. “More like—”

“Shut up,” Pippa whispers, and kisses her again.


End file.
